


Embellishments

by TawnyLocke



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Episode S01E07 - He Deserved to Die, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 17:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2629607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyLocke/pseuds/TawnyLocke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is a series of amusing anecdotes.  Or at least it should be, until Oliver Hampton throws a wrench in Connor's plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embellishments

**Author's Note:**

> This will all likely get thrown out of whack by episode 9. Such is life writing for an ongoing canon, I suppose.

Connor was sixteen when he fell in love with Aiden Walker, and he was still sixteen when Aiden broke his heart by saying _we're just fucking around, it's not like we're boyfriend and girlfriend, right_ and he had said it with such gleaming, desperate hope that Connor, so in love he felt sick with it, said _yeah, we're just fucking around_. Never mind that he loved those nights when all they did was study and Connor made sure they had the crunchy kind of cheese puffs and Gatorade stocked up, that he liked sucking all of Aiden's fingers into his mouth until he couldn't taste artificial cheese, that he had dreams of them going to college together somewhere in the northeast. He'd spent hours rimming Aiden until Aiden was a useless puddle on the bed, but Connor had spent just as many hours frantically searching the mall and online catalogues for the perfect birthday and Christmas presents for him.

And soon enough, Aiden discovered a particular girl, then many girls, then one girl again and this lasted a while, all the way up to graduation. On certain nights, he would crawl into Connor's bed and Connor would indulge himself, lose himself in Aiden's body all over again, but after those nights it was back to the same old thing. Friends. Study partners. Someone Aiden could heartily slap on the back in the hallway, a grin free of secrets on his face.

Looking back, Connor can't say that it all started from there, because it didn't. He first had sex when he was fourteen with another boy, then had another first with a girl when he was fifteen. They both said the same thing -- it's just fooling around. There were circle jerks there too, a couple of older closet cases who had hair triggers with their cocks and their fists, and then Chelsea, who had wanted to make sure she was a lesbian and came out of the experience 100% certain, which worked out for the both of them because Connor was absolutely sure of something at the end of it too.

He was a pit stop to something else. It felt like that certainly, and maybe it wasn't worth the bother. When he got older, that shifted into something definitive, set in stone and in his bones. He wanted stories instead, even if they were just ones he could relive in the privacy of his own thoughts. It became about that bodybuilder who had convulsive orgasms so alarming that Connor almost dialed 911 because it looked like an epileptic seizure, the forever-boyfriends in public who were looking to spice up a stale sex life by adding two more people in private, the deeply devout and astonishingly beautiful closeted Muslim who showered immediately after sex and left the room like it was on fire, but not before sincerely thanking him for the experience.

 _Do I have stories?_ Connor could now ask with disbelief at any gathering. _I'll tell you some stories._

* * *

The Story of Oliver Hampton, Chapter One, went something like this in Connor's head:

1) He needed information.  
2) Cute, but somewhat insecure-seeming IT manager has that information.  
3) Flirt and make him think sex is potentially on the horizon.  
4) Get the information.  
5) Maybe fuck him senseless, if there was time.

(Were people blind? What was it that let their eyes slide over this man? Connor went for a record when he turned Oliver over. He took Oliver apart with his tongue and fingers and lingered there, over and over, until Oliver asked him to stop because he was too sensitive. He could have stayed there for hours. He asked Oliver to lie on his back instead, and went for a record there too.)

In the future, he would have told the story as a charity case. _Yeah, there was this guy who was cute in a nerdy way. Gave him a pity fuck -- you gotta give them out once in a while, you know? They're always so grateful and they're open to anything because they think they won't get another shot._

Really though, it was nothing special.

* * *

The Story of Oliver Hampton, Chapter Two, was something else.

_This guy was so whipped. Seriously, all I had to do was bring food and he'd be down to fuck. He had a rating system. If it was something crappy like Taco Bell or McDonalds, you get a hand job at best but if you get something that's new to him or from a place he likes? Jesus H. Christ, I probably could have fisted him if I could somehow get takeout from Vetri without too much trouble._

In reality though, it was so easy being with Oliver, even when sex wasn't on the table. Not that Connor often let it be, because he had needs. On the rare days when he wasn't drowning in course work or any of Professor Keating's cases, he found himself looking at Oliver's phone number and picture and pressing the call button to make plans, making up cases where IT knowledge could be relevant just so he could swing by.

"So how do you solve a problem like a computer with a virus on it if it's needed to keep the business running, but you can't quarantine it?" That was probably a basic question, but it got Oliver going when he was distracted.

"Easy," Oliver said, intent on his laptop. It was clear that he was reciting this effortlessly from memory, and nothing excited Connor like someone who was good at their job and casual about it. "First you have to know the VLANs and know how the threat spreads before you do anything, because you have to limit access. Once you have that figured, you can close open shares." His fingers were typing uninterrupted, and Connor shouldn't have been as turned on by that as he was. "You have to ask people to re-authenticate when they're connecting to the servers again. People forget to disable the auto play features sometimes, which is how viruses can spread easily, so that has to be taken care of. You ban or restrict any use of USBs too."

Connor understood maybe 1/3 of what Oliver said, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to play this game. "Do you make executables on network drives read-only?" he asked. Thank you, Google.

Oliver turned around, impressed but trying not to show it. Whether he was impressed by Connor actually knowing it or taking the time to Google it, then pretend to know it wasn't quite that obvious.

"Do I get a reward, Mr. Hampton?"

"Maybe."

Connor was already unzipping his pants. Oliver was a fast learner, and it wasn't like he was ignorant before. Connor closed his eyes and pulled at Oliver's hair, and maybe something should have occurred to him by then, that he was no longer annoyed by the loud crunch of Oliver's hair due to the egregious amount of product in it, that Oliver had his own reward system for this game they were playing. All that was lost when Oliver's mouth touched his cock -- it was hard to think of anything else, especially when Oliver kept his glasses on during blowjobs.

* * *

Connor Walsh and Oliver Hampton's Final Chapter was awful.

His heart sank when he heard Pax's voice, tinny but lively, from Oliver's room. Then Connor's feeble attempt at mitigating it started.

"I like you. Actually."

"But you're more than sex."

"Don't make this a bigger deal than it is!"

Connor panicked, and years of knowing what to say and when to say it escaped him so quickly that he felt like he was suddenly transported in the middle of the ocean with no life jacket. He stood outside Oliver's door, his clothes and shoes in his hands. He was trying to spin this into something he could tell later on -- _oh my fuckbuddy overreacted and threw me out naked, can you believe it? And his neighbor saw and said 'I'll take his trash anytime' and then I went what the hell, and fucked him into next week. Take your chances when you see them, right?_

Oliver couldn't be a story, something Connor realized far too late. And when he returned to Oliver's apartment, flowers in hand, and saw one of the most amazing looking man open the door, he knew he lost his chance, even as a part of him railed at how unfair it was that Oliver was already moving on with his life. He wasn't supposed to, not that quickly, not with someone that good-looking, not with someone who already wanted to protect him from awful people.

Connor merited more depression time than that, didn't he?

Of course not. Ships passing in the night, a gas station meal, the break before the better destination.

* * *

Life, and the desperation that comes along with it, has a funny way of making new chapters.

 

NOW

After he'd had his meltdown, he asked Oliver for a garbage bag. "Don't ask questions, OK? I don't want you to get into trouble."

Oliver nodded, and Connor didn't know how he was lucky enough to still get this kind of treatment. Oliver disappeared into his apartment and came back out with the requested garbage bag. Right there in the hallway, Connor took off almost all his clothes except his underwear and threw all of them in the bag as one big bundle. He smiled at Oliver then. "I know it's nothing you haven't seen before." He tried to imagine what he looked like right now: dirty and sweaty, reeking of desperation. Oliver's face flickered through expressions that Connor tried to catalogue -- some of them were new to him.

"Oh Connor," he said. His face crumpled in the worst way, but Connor knew he couldn't touch him. Not just then.

"It was for a good cause. I think," he replied. "Or maybe that's just desperation talking."

Oliver kept staring at him, a bleak and hopeless expression on his face. Connor stared right back, looking his fill. It might be his last, and a small part of him was happy in the most terrible way, seeing Oliver upset over what could potentially happen to him.

"You know where my shower is," Oliver finally said. "Leave the bag out there."

Connor closed his eyes, trying to stop the tears but unable to prevent them; he felt one from each eye slide across his cheeks. "Thank you," he said. He opened his eyes to see Oliver stepping aside to let him in. He walked straight into the bathroom, turned on the shower as hot as he could stand it, and let it wash away everything, from the dirt on his hands to the tension he had been carrying all night across his shoulders. He grabbed Oliver's body gel and scrubbed at his skin as hard as he could. When his skin was pink, he took some of the fruity shampoo that Oliver favored and washed his hair until he couldn't smell smoke anymore. He felt marginally better clean, even if it could only ever be literal at this point.

Oliver had considerately left some clothes sitting on the counter. He dressed himself in Oliver's black track pants and an old red and green shirt that said SLAUGHTER MELON on the back. The smell of fried eggs beckoned in the kitchen.

"I don't know how you take your eggs," Oliver said, looking over his shoulder.

"Over easy, with salt and pepper," Connor said.

"Coming right up."

He watched Oliver cooking, feeling a pang of regret that he didn't give himself a chance to see this before. Oliver knew his way around the kitchen, or at the very least knew his way around eggs. He cracked them open with his left hand and had a salt shaker on his right. Once the eggs were salted, he gave the pepper mill a few vigorous twists, then he flipped the eggs over. Plates were already waiting on the kitchen counter, and when Oliver turned around, he had perfectly cooked over easy eggs to offer.

"Thank you, Oliver."

Oliver's smile was tired but genuine. They sat down and ate in silence. Connor didn't realize how hungry he was until he had the first bite. Oliver had already made toast, and was considerate enough to butter them too. In almost no time, Connor's plate was empty and for the first time all night and morning, he felt like he could think clearly.

"I need to be able to claim innocence to help you," Oliver said without warning. Connor could have wept just then, and maybe some of that expression leaked out on his face because Oliver's face softened. "You came here, you said you got into a minor accident and felt shook up. I let you use my shower and threw your clothes into the washer, not really thinking anything of it. That just happened, by the way. I made you breakfast."

"Oliver--"

"Don't give me any information. Don't."

Connor nodded.

"I let you sleep on the couch, even though we had broken up a few weeks before. I'm just that kind of guy," Oliver said, dry as dead summer leaves on the last sentence.

"You are that kind of guy," Connor said.

"I'm not, and drop it." Oliver stood up, his meal finished, and left to return with a blanket and a pillow, which he tossed on the couch. "I'm going back to bed. You should get some sleep." Connor heard the soft snick of Oliver's light switch turning off, restoring a soothing darkness. He decided to wash the dishes, a small favor to drop for the kind of gratitude that could fill oceans. He went to the couch and tucked himself in, and it was surprisingly easy to fall asleep.

 

It felt like no time had passed when he woke up, even though he felt better, less jagged along the edges. The clock on the wall said 9:00, so he had only slept for a couple of hours. The apartment was still quiet. He went into the bathroom, squeezed some toothpaste on his index finger and scrubbed his teeth before walking into Oliver's room. He could see Oliver huddled under the sheets, the sunlight accentuating the muscled curve of his back and the slope of his shoulders.

He started in surprise when he heard Oliver speak. "We're not fucking, especially if you're doing it because you want to thank me. Things are shitty enough without dragging that into this."

Connor deserved that, even though it hurt. "I wasn't coming here for that."

Oliver turned around on the bed to face him. He had sleep lines on his cheek and his eyes still looked slightly swollen with sleep. "Really? What were you planning on doing?"

"Being a creep. I just wanted to watch."

"You wanted to watch me sleep?"

Connor nodded. "Yeah," he added uselessly, his voice cracking in between.

"I don't think sentimentality suits you, Connor."

"I shouldn't be afraid to try new things just because they don't suit me." He stepped closer to the bed. "Please," he said, not knowing what he was asking for. Something.

Oliver was shaking his head. "Not today, Connor." His face was solemn. "I'm not saying not ever, but definitely not today, for whatever it is you're asking."

"Who was that guy?" Connor asked impulsively. "I came here a couple of weeks ago--"

"I know. And that guy is none of your business. You don't have any right to ask me any questions, at least not about that."

Connor knew it sounded feeble even before he said it, but he couldn't stop it. "I was just curious." Oliver stayed quiet, which Connor supposed was the point. He took a step back. "I make good French toast," he said, breaking the silence. "I make a decent pot of coffee. It will be ready in about 30 minutes, if you're interested."

"Yeah," Oliver said. "I'm interested."

* * *

Days, weeks, months and years from now, Connor Walsh learns that the best stories always have parts that remain unwritten, parts that the world isn't meant to see. Those parts could take place in an infinite number of possibilities and take detours in fascinating ways. The rest of the world will know his life from newspaper and magazine articles, blog posts, tweets, televised interviews, court documents, law archives, police statements, records of transfer and a notorious selfie.

For him though, he knows that the best part of his story, the part that he doesn't share with just anyone, the part that he will protect with everything he has, all started with two simple meals. Eggs, over easy, and buttered toast. Golden brown cinnamon French toast, leftover strawberries, cold maple syrup. A freshly brewed pot of coffee.

THE END


End file.
